


Ashes and Ghost

by CapriciousVanity



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Crime Scenes, Gen, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousVanity/pseuds/CapriciousVanity
Summary: Connor and Hank investigate an illegal alteration of androids that turn up chopped and frankensteined into monstrosities. Connor does not take it well. Amanda does not take Connor well. Hank doesn't take anything well.





	Ashes and Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Titled and based off Silent Hill 2's OST _Ashes and Ghost_. I recommend giving it a listen to get the feel.  
>  While I meant to imply blossoming Hank/Connor, it is not necessary to read this story.  
> Sorry for the ending. Have fun.  
> 

 “You need to tell me what happened, or they _will_ deactivate you.” Connor was leaning over the deck, face up close to the deviant. Another murder, an old LM100 gardener who had slit the throat of their owner’s husband, according to the case file and what Connor could conjure at the crime scene.

The gardener, Henry as his registered name was, shivered in his seat.

“I-I told you everything,” he sobbed, tears down his face. Connor was nonplussed by the scene.

“No, not everything.”

Henry quaked, static in his artificial voice as he cried.

“I-I cut him. I cut his throat. He was, he was just.. He was always so mean to her!” Henry closed his fists on the table, gritting his teeth. Androids deviated under emotionally stressing situations.

Connor scanned the LM100, stress level approximately 48% which was within optimal range.

“And, what? You thought you loved that human? Your owner, your _master_. You thought you loved her, and so you killed her husband because you were jealous, is that it?!” Connor slammed his hand on the desk. Stress level 52%.

Henry flinched and glared at Connor.

“No! No, no, I would never do that to her. I-I did love her, yes. But I would never kill someone she loved for, for my sorry sake.”

“Then _why_ did you do it?” Connor pressed, lips in a fine line, glaring down the deviant android.

“He, he hit her. All the time. Never above the collar or on her arms.”

Connor’s mind palace scanned the android’s vocal, thermal, and cardio patterns, all lead to it telling the truth, though still rather stressed. Connor also thought back to the body of the woman, large bruises along her ribcage as if she had been kicked before. The shoe size matched the android, but Connor realized that they also matched the husband. He came back to reality, not missing a beat to the naked eye.

“So you wanted to protect her?” His voice was calmer, changing his approach.

“Yes! Yes, I just… I just wanted to keep her safe. But he kicked her so hard, I-I think it just… I think he killed her. I mean. I mean she was still alive, but I just snapped, and I couldn’t let him do that to her anymore!”

“So you took your spade and jabbed it into his throat.” Connor concluded.

“Yes,” said Henry, determined with fists clenched. “I wanted to protect her...”

Connor nodded, and in his user interface he checked off Extract Confession.

“And yet she still died, because you decided to wait to kill her husband instead of _actually_ protecting her.” Connor meant it as mere fact, but the straightforwardness of his voice made it sound intentionally cruel. Henry lowered his head.

“Please, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t deactivate me. I was trying to help.”

Connor ignored him, standing off to the corner by the door while Chris arrested the deviant. His eyes followed the crying android as he was the last to leave. Hank came from the other room, looking down the hall as Chris took the android to the cells.

“Jesus, Connor. Guy was trying to protect his owner, it’s not like he killed both of them.”

Hank looked back to Connor, who had begun to balance his quarter on his knuckles.

“But in reality, he did. He killed the husband and refused to call the police until she had passed. _Letting_ a human die is the same as killing them.” He put his quarter away. Hank frowned. Connor realized he had, in fact, seemed cruel and saw Hank’s disapproval right before him.

“Fuckin’ machine. Not a goddamn empathetic bone in you.” Hank stormed off, back towards his desk.

Connor’s LED flashed yellow. He could have handled that better. He wasn’t sure why his response had been as such. Yes, he was made to be practical, reasonable, logical. But there was no need to push the boundary. That wasn’t logical, reasonable, or practical.

He followed behind and sat at his own desk in front of Hank, who seemed purposely preoccupied reading [Tech Addict] as his scanners deduced. An article about implementing the android AI system into household items. Hank made a disgusted look and tossed the piece aside.

Hank looked up to Connor, who was still staring.

“The fuck you looking at,” he asked rhetorically, more annoyed that Connor was staring to begin with.

Connor answered him anyway.

“I see that my approach may have upset you, Lieutenant. I will try in the future to use a more gentler approach, especially for those cases in which you seem to become emotionally attached.”

Hank looked even more offended, mouth agape before shaking his head.

“You just don’t fucking get it, do you? It doesn’t matter if I fuckin _approve_ of your damn approach or not. Empathy costs you fucking nothing.”

Connor clasped his hands together in front of him.

“Androids don’t _feel_ empathy, Lieutenant.”

“What the fuck is with you, lately?” Hank questioned.

“You decided you didn’t want to shoot that girl ages ago and now you think you can just get away with being an asshole all the time? That it? Or what about those fucking Frankenstein freaks?! You’ve been fucked up ever since we started that case!”

Connor’s LED slowly blinked yellow, figuring out the best approach.

Diplomatic? – Hank does not appreciate being talked to like an official.

Understanding? – Hank may appreciate emotional connection, but it seemed too insincere right now.

Troubled? – If Connor projected an emotive state but coming from himself rather than using a pseudo-empathetic route towards Hank, it might make his partner happy. Or at least less upset. And besides, Connor was, at least somewhat, concerned for his own well being. It was programmed into him – although he could be replaced, saving his own skin is still preferable over temporary deactivation and loss of memory.

“I’ve been… Thinking about it, lately, yes.” He answered honestly. Hank tilted his head, partially because he didn’t quite believe the android.

“I… Honestly don’t know why I didn’t shoot her. It’s an android. It doesn’t feel pain, and it would only be replaced later, particularly by Kamski’s own hand if not simply repaired. But… I couldn’t do it. It goes against my mission, my programming, my stability.” He looked up at Hank, who only watched him as he spoke.

“Yeah, so what? You afraid of becoming deviant or something?”

A worried Yes? – Proves deviancy. Do not.

A cold No? – Lying. Hank would catch it. So would Amanda.

Logical would be the best approach.

“If I am found to be deviant, I would be decommissioned. My whole series would be, and I would have no way of completing my mission or ever returning to it. The Frankenstein Monsters, as you call them, are simply a matter of finding illegal junkers and divers and promptly arresting them.”

Hank slowly nodded, as if he understood. Perhaps he did.

“Lemme ask you something.”

Connor tilted his head.

“All that CyberLife hardware ‘n shit in your brain or whatever. You, uh. Does it _all_ go back to CyberLife?”

“Yes. Every part of my memory is uploaded and copied, both for their observation as well as for my continuation. However, when I am damaged, parts of my memory are often corrupted. While it does not affect the investigation necessarily, it has the potential to cause personal setbacks.”

“ _Personal setbacks_ , huh? What, you gunna forget your name or some shit?”

“It is possible,” Connor answered honestly. “I could also forget your name, or parts of the time we have spent together. Again, not necessarily that it affects the investigation as I can easily re-analyze any given situation to recollect evidence that could have been corrupted in my memory, but I would find it to be… Regrettable to forget these moments.”

Connor smiled and Hank stared at him curiously.

“Right. Well, whatever. As long as that stick is outta your ass, I don’t really give a shit.”

Connors smile faltered. He wanted to try to be a good companion, but Amanda would not approve of it.

Hank doesn’t matter to the mission. But he does matter to Connor.

Connor has been in Hank’s home before. The photo of Hank’s son sat on the kitchen table, as always. Sumo looked at Connor expectantly and the android bent down to scratch under its chin. Hank came out of his bedroom, dressed down more casually. Connor stood back straight, folders under his arm.

“Ah, fuck,” Hank mumbled. “Might as well get this over with, I guess.”

Hank sat on the couch, letting the tv play whatever was on – Connor seeing that it was a soap opera on a local cable channel, having less than optimal viewers to give it a decent hour (as it was two thirty-five in the morning) but just enough to keep it on air. A woman killed a man’s wife because she loved him, and the camera dramatically zoomed in on her face as she spoke it out loud to the courtroom, a sudden jumpcut to the surprised faces of the jury.

“Connor! Stop watching that crap and give me the folders already.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Connor handed Hank manila envelopes containing photographs of evidence, prints of Connor’s own findings, as well as detailed reports of missing androids and what they found.

“Androids gone missing, but pieces of them turn up in repair shops.”

Hank nodded. “Sounds like your average chop shop, to be honest. Except instead of cars or bikes, it’s androids.” Hank frowned. “Still, though… Don’t think you’d have a heart to do this kind of shit to something with a face.”

Connor looked at a particular photograph found at a crime scene that neither he nor Hank had visited – it was in a folder from one of Chris and Gavin’s crime scenes. An android, picked apart and faceless. At least, by technicality. It was two lower-halves of two different female AP400 models, conjoined at the midsection, the bottom half’s legs spread apart across the ground as it was sat against the wall, the top half pair of legs bent over, one heel hanging off the left foot, a disturbing mirror image not unlike a royal playing card.

The one that he and Hank came across was another butchered creation, the exact opposite in composition. It was two different models pieced together, a male MP500 and a female ST200, the latter being an older model – the exact one that Kamski had multiples of. Connor had his own memory of it, needing not rely on photographs that Hank was holding and was looking particularly perturbed remembering it by.

_“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank gasped. The amalgamate android was covered in blue blood, leaking from the mouth, nose, and eyes of the ST200 that reached out, one hand clawing at the floor, another outstretched as if to beg, frozen in a position as if permanently crying out for help. The second half was a male model, but its face had been ripped apart, blue blood leaking from slashes across its heavily deformed face, no eyes to be had and a Glasgow cut across its mouth, cheek against the floor and arms spread in front of it, grasping at the carpet it had dragged from the other room. Two androids conjoined at the middle, one crawling in one direction, the other in the opposite direction. The trailer was supposed to be abandoned, and neighbors thought it was used for Red Ice. Perhaps it was, but that was not the major concern here._

Connor remembered the monstrosity vividly and was reminded of Kamski, gun in hand and pointed at the blank, doll-like face of the ST200 kneeling before him, unmoved and undisturbed.

His memories began to collide, the face of the ST200 kneeling before him in his memory began to open her mouth and grimace, her face scrunching as if to scream but blue blood gurgled from her mouth as she reached out to him.

Connor jolted, dropping the photo.

“Woah, hey. You okay?”

Hank sat up straight, files in hand but ready to be placed on the coffee table. Connor looked down at him, still standing, hands in the air where they were once holding the photo he dropped. His LED was flashing red.

_Self-test initializing… … …_

_Stress Level 43%. Cooling fan system active. Visual processing unit functional. Visual processing node functional. Memory cache… … ... No errors found. Memory storage … … ... No errors found._

“Connor, snap the fuck out of it.”

Connor looked at Hank again, who was now standing beside him, hands on Connor’s shoulders. In reality he had not looked away from Hank as much as he did not pay attention to him during his self-test.

“Fuck’s the matter with you…?” Hank asked, but his voice was full of concern despite the harsh words.

“I…”

Connor couldn’t figure it out.

“I don’t know.”

Hank slowly slid his hands from Connor’s shoulders as the android let down his arms. The Lieutenant bent down to take back the photo Connor dropped, looking it over. Connor’s LED slowly filled with yellow, circling, processing.

“Guess this kind of stuff freaks you out, too, huh?”

He slowly sat back down.

Androids don’t feel fear, Connor assured himself.

“Androids don’t feel fear,” Connor said aloud.

Hank took Connor’s arm, pulling him down onto the couch. The android sat down slowly, carefully, as if the monsters could come straight out of their photographs, as if they would seek him out, torture him, punish him for not saving them.

“Don’t give me that crap, look at you,” Hank assured, trying to soothe Connor by rubbing his arm. He didn’t know what to do. Connor was, in fact, an android. Maybe he didn’t feel fear, but whatever he was feeling, it was stuttering the android’s processor.

 _Please don’t deactivate me_.

Connor’s LED turned back to red, flashing.

“Fuck, Connor. Connor!” Hank tried to shake him, gently, but still shake him.

Connor sank into the couch, head tilting back, mouth ajar. He fell into his headspace.

Connor woke up on the ground, covered in snow. It was somehow hot as he stood, and he wiped his face, looking at his palm – it was not snow, it was ash. He looked around his headspace, the garden, everything was on fire.

“Amanda..?” he called out. Somehow, she was not here.

“Amanda!” He tried again. Stress level 76%. He grit his teeth, trying to look around, power-walking towards the center, across the bridge. The roses on the lattice were burnt to a crisp.

He felt fear.

“Connor, snap the fuck out of it!”

Connor blinked, Hank above him, shaking his shoulders with a deep frown of worry.

“Connor, what the fuck? Kid, are you alright?”

Hank smoothed out Connor’s shoulders as the android blinked looking around his surroundings.

_Stress Level 68%. Visual processor functional. Visual node functional. Headspace – error, cannot connect._

His cooling system was still active. He was programmed for subtle movements such as simulated breathing, and although he did not need to breathe, his respiratory system made his chest heave to cool himself down.

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”

_Cooling system activated. Stress level 54%. Stress level 43%. Stress level 38%._

Connor looked up, his face was calm, save for upturned brows.

The fear was gone.

 _Searching … … … No data found._  

He remembered _that_ he felt it, but he did not remember feeling it. It was unfamiliar, alien to his central processing unit, and according to his system search the memory of it was not found. The memory of being in his headspace was not found. His headspace was not found.

“I think that’s enough for one evening,” Hank suggested. Even Sumo came up to them, making his way to the couch, large head set in Connor’s lap as he put a paw up.

“We haven’t even started,” Connor corrected.

“Yeah, well, I think whatever android seizure you had is enough of a tell that we need a break.”

Seizure?

_Searching… … …_

_Absent Seizure – Absence seizures cause lapses in awareness, sometimes with staring. They are a type of generalized onset seizures, meaning they begin in both sides of the brain at the same time. They begin and end abruptly, lasting only a few seconds._

Yes, Connor supposed he had an androidic equivalent of a seizure. But how?

 _In general, seizures are caused by abnormal electrical impulses from nerve cells (neurons) in the brain._ _In people who have seizures, the brain's usual electrical activity is altered. During an absence seizure, these electrical signals repeat themselves over and over in a three-second pattern._

His headspace was corrupted, somehow. It was a major change in his usual makeup. Did Amanda abandon him? He wondered if that meant he would be taken back to CyberLife to be decommissioned. He would find it regrettable to be taken off these cases so abruptly.

“You, uh, wanna talk about what just happened?”

Hank asked, holding a beer in hand. He had gone to the kitchen and came back, all without Connor’s notice.

Connor wondered how he should broach the subject.

Technical – Hank admittedly _doesn’t know jack shit_ about androids. He may not understand Connor’s technobabble.

Reassuring – Connor could assure Hank that he is fine, but he knows that Hank would know this was a lie.

Medical – Connor is unsure of how much medical knowledge Hank actually has on seizures, and even then the biological capacity for seizures is still different from Connor’s coding hiccup. It was not a proper fit.

None of these options were good.

“I am having trouble understanding it myself,” he admitted.

“Alright. That’s okay,” Hank assured. “But are you okay? Are you hurt? Something up with, uh… Your programming or something?”

Connor looked up at the Lieutenant.

“I… There’s a place inside of me. I go there when I send my reports to CyberLife,” he started. He might as well try to explain to Hank his internal working in as lay as possible.

“Uh-huh… So, what, like… Your _happy place_?”

“Something like that, but not quite. It is preprogrammed into me, and it is there I meet and speak with my head advisor, Amanda. She was Kamski’s former teacher, and in a sense she is also mine. It is she who gives me orders and she whom I report to.”

Hank set down his beer, not yet having taken a drink.

“So, let me get this straight. You got a dead woman in your head telling you what to do?”

“She isn’t actually alive or dead, she’s just a a simulated copy of the original. But, yes.”

“So… What’s this have to do with your little episode?”

Connor paused for a moment.

“I saw…. Fire. My… Headspace. It was programmed to look like a zen garden, and where I would always find Amanda trimming roses was completely burned. Everything was in ashes. And Amanda wasn’t there.”

Hank didn’t quite understand. He did, but he didn’t. He heard Connor’s words, but they didn’t make sense. But he still wanted to try and help.

“You sure it wasn’t just… I don’t know, a bad dream?”

_Do androids dream of electric sheep?_

Connor shook his head. “No, it couldn’t have been. I…”

He closed his eyes, LED spinning yellow.

 _Headspace – error, cannot connect_.

“I still can’t connect.”

“Maybe it’s like, I don’t know, server maintenance or something?”

Hank was stringing together phrases he has heard of before, but it didn’t apply to Connor. Still, the android smiled at him. He didn’t want to worry the human any further.

“Maybe. I sure hope so. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to see the equivalent of your home up in smoke.”

Connor stayed at Hank’s home. Usually he would report back to CyberLife mentally but seeing as that is not an option, he opted for petting Sumo as the large Saint Bernard rested its head in the android’s lap, sleeping on the couch. Hank had gone to bed an hour and twenty three minutes ago. Connor heard his breathing slow and assumed he had entered REM sleep, just now. Hank must not be an easy sleeper. Or perhaps the android’s episode had put Hank on edge.

Connor watched the soap opera on television, the same one as before, having a marathon it seems. The woman who murdered the husband was apparently pregnant with his child. Connor recollected the android that murdered the abusive husband. He wanted to go back, to apologize, but he removed the thought completely – what was done was done, and all he could do was move forward.

The hours were long. Sumo had changed position, lying on his back on the couch. Connor had not moved, sitting straight up on the couch, watching the television which was now airing an hour long vacuum commercial, repeating the same scenes and dialogue from the incompetent actors and relentlessly overselling android host merely going through the motions of what he was designed to do.

Connor was just going through the motions of what he was designed to do.

The thought crept into his mind, and at first he wanted to exile it, file it away so he wouldn’t get caught. But Amanda wasn’t here. His hands closed into loose fists, grabbing his pants. He had time for himself, truly for himself, now. He didn’t know what to do. Usually he would report back to CyberLife mentally but seeing as that is not an option, he opted for petting Sumo sleeping on the couch.

Connor looked down at the dog. He realized he had done this exact motion just some hours ago.

He put his hands in his lap, looking back to the tv infomercial overselling a square and out-of-date vacuum cleaner robot going through the motion of what it was designed to do.

Connor was no longer going through the motions of what he was designed to do. He had nothing to do, so he did nothing.

Eventually Hank had stirred from his sleep, pattering to the bathroom. When he came out, he saw Connor sitting still, staring at the television which was now showing the weather.

“You can change it, you know.” He said carefully. Hank was concerned for Connor, since last night and now this morning. The times Connor had stayed by to look through evidence or even take care of Hank’s drunken self, he would pull out his coin or pet Sumo or report back to CyberLife. But seeing him still and blank staring at the sub-par comedy show was eerie at best.

Connor did not acknowledge him.

“Connor, for the love of God, don’t do this. It’s too early.”

The android turned to him.

“Oh. Good morning Lieutenant. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

_Time: 11:58. January 12 th, 2039. _

Connor did hear him, but for some reason it was only processed just now.

“Right… Well, I’m going put myself together and we’ll just head down for breakfast, alright? Go to the precinct later.” Hank didn’t want to bring it up just yet. Still too early.

Breakfast at most places was no longer being served, but Connor didn’t tell Hank that.

When Hank was ready Connor was standing in the middle of the room, playing with his coin, and Hank gave a sigh. At least something was back to normal.

On the drive to an indoor diner Hank kept the music down.

“So, how you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Connor answered simply. He didn’t seem to be lying.

“Alright. Well, that’s good. We’ll get something to eat here and we’ll look in the archives room to see what we can put together.” Hank didn’t really want to, as the disassembled parts of the androids they found were in there, but they will have to.

“Alright. That seems viable.”

If Connor was disturbed or still affected by what happened last night, Hank couldn’t tell.

Connor drove as Hank bit into his burger. Not breakfast, but Hank woke up fairly late.

_Processing… … …_

Connor was missing five hours of memory. He frowned deeply.

“What’s eating you?” Hank asked ironically as he ate a few fries. 

“What exactly happened last night, Lieutenant, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Fuck if I know, you tell me. You went all quiet and your LED turned red, scared the shit out of me.”

Connor nodded. “I see. I will have to file a report back to CyberLife when I get the chance. I would rather do it at the precinct as not to put ourselves in danger while I drive.”

“So you got reconnected? That’s good.”

Connor did not understand.

“I’m sorry? Was I disconnected last night? I suppose that makes up for the hours missing in my memory.”

“Fuck, you don’t remember?” Hank looked at him in disbelief. Connor glanced back at him curiously but otherwise nonplussed.

“Kid, you had like, I don’t know, an android seizure. Didn’t respond to anything I said, and you were real freaked out. You told me you couldn’t connect to CyberLife, or Amanda.”

Connor went quiet for a moment before finally murmuring, “I see.” 

Hank muttered another, _fuck_ as he finished his burger.

Connor and Hank went into the archives room, the wall blank as Hank entered his keycard, waiting for a password prompt.

He turned to Connor.

“You sure you’re alright to do this? I mean, looking at those photos is what started all this in the first place.”

“Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant, but I’m positive it was merely a correlation, not causation. I will be fine. Although, I will have to manually re-enter CyberLife Tower when I get the chance to fix this issue.”

Hank didn’t seemed convinced but entered his password anyway. Connor noticed he changed it to _fuckingpassword2_ and smiled to himself.

The wall began to shift as the other side gathered the evidence, pieces, and parts logged under Hank Anderson. Connor’s expression faltered at the sight of the two monstrosities pinned to the wall on opposite sides, the legs-android spread out like an “X”, the dual-androids laid on their backs on a shelf, both looking upward at nothing in particular.

Hank grimaced but rounded the console to get a better look at the dual-androids.

“Never thought you could do something like this, just… Put different parts together.”

Connor approached him from behind.

“Some of our components are compatible with one another, although to be honest I didn’t think you could accomplish an amalgamation such as this. Usually only basic limbs or processing units, such as audio or visual nodes, would be cross-compatible. Not…” Connor gestured to the midsection where the two androids were conjoined. They still had two separate batteries and Connor wondered how it made it as long as it had. They had.

The android detective reached out to the MP500 half, Hank stepping a little aside.

“You gunna do it again, huh?” He asked, though it was rhetorical.

Connor didn’t know what he meant, but he decided to ask that question later. He turned on the MP500 and replaced a major central processing unit that had been taken out, sitting next to the amalgamate’s head. It screeched static, mouth wide open, and Hank jumped. It looked over to where Connor’s general direction was, still missing eyes.

“Please,” it ragged, reaching out but missing Connor. “Please…”

“Who did this to you?” Connor asked.

“Please…” It reached out fruitlessly, trying to grab Connor. The detective took hold of its arm and what skin was left on it faded away, pulling Connor into its memory.

Everything was static, more so than the typical androidic memory sequence. Everything was flashing red, error, error, _error_.

Connor saw the MP500, in its first person view, raise its arms to plead, a drill undoing its abdominal compartment, taking out and disconnecting biocomponent tubes, essentially vivisecting the android. The MP500 frantically thrashed, and its memory cut out, going blank. Connor pressed further, rewinding the memory, the static growing more and more around his peripheral, but he saw it and captured it – an image of a pixelated face, wearing a blank mask with blue blood splattered on it. He disconnected from the MP500. It had deactivated.

Connor let the android’s arm fall. Stress level 33%. It was the MP’s memory, not his. It didn’t actually happen to him.

Connor’s LED circled red, Hank hand touched Connor’s shoulder and the android startled.

“Woah. Woah, Connor, you alright? This is exactly what happened last time,” he mumbled.

Connor doesn’t remember a last time.

“I felt… Scared.” He said, his software falling back into reasoning as the fleeting emotion left him. It felt familiar, but it was a distant familiarity. He was aware he felt fear, felt scared, but he no longer actually _felt_ it. He suddenly couldn’t remember what it felt like, only that it happened. He became himself again and backed away from the MP500 half.

“I got something.”

Hank perked up. “Yeah? What’d you find this time?”

“A mask. A person. Apparently caucasion, sex unknown, but they were wearing a blank white mask. Green eyes.” Connor checked off all facts he could find in the memory. Without emotional weight, he found it easy enough to scan. He couldn’t determine height or weight, there wasn’t enough background to compare.

“I’ll need more to find out who or where this happened, but it’s a start.”

“More than what we got before. You alright to keep going?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, Lieutenant.”

Hank felt rather useless watching Connor. He could put clues and evidence together just fine, but this was technological shit he didn’t know anything about. He was grateful Connor had the ability to access the memories of androids, but without him it would take weeks to get reports back from CyberLife, from a human person scouring the details and seconds of memory like a security camera. He felt useless, but also grateful to have Connor as his partner on the more technological aspects of cases.

Connor looked down to the dual-android. He should also look inside the ST200’s memory. The MP500 was damaged severely, and he assumed the ST200 would have better function. He paused to grit his teeth.

Hank placed his hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“Hey, why don’t we check out the archives at our desk to see if there’s any match to what you saw. We’ll come back and interrogate the other later, yeah?”

Connor believed that may be the best approach. If he was… Apprehensive about just this, it would possibly cause further harm to his already-corrupting system.

Connor and Hank looked over photographs again. CyberLife gave the DPD prints of Connor’s photographic memory as well as a 3D electronic file to view of his assessment, especially since traces of evaporated thirium were found all over the premises. Hank was using his monitor to look through Connor’s uploaded memory of the crime scene. He seemed distracted, not looking at evidence in particular as much as he was just moving the view of the touchscreen around with his finger.

“Are you… Finding everything alright, Lieutenant?”

Hank looked to Connor, somewhat wide-eyed.

“Yeah, yeah. So you’re telling me this is how you see?”

“Well, not exactly. It’s how I see things when I analyze them, but not all the time.”

“Uh-huh. Huh.” Hank looked through, preoccupied with the grid system of Connor’s analytical construction of the at-the-time environment, the highlighted boxes that Connor particularly noted that when Hank touched them, another window would open said notes. Everything was muted in blue, white lines highlighting the direction of action lines, walls, and particular pieces of evidence.

“Doesn’t this shit drive you crazy?”

“No, not particularly. However, as I said, I don’t see it all the time, only when I call it up.”

Hank looked through, also reading the matter-of-fact notes Connor had on the individuals present at the crime scene, frozen in his still memory mid-walk or mid-crouch. Just names, ages, birthdates, and so on. But Hank was still nearly breathless.

Hank looked at Connor’s notes on the amalgamate on the floor, frozen in a scream, reaching out in opposite directions. Hank squinted.

“Hey, uh, Connor, I think something’s wrong. Can you uncensor this or something?”

Connor looked over and saw that the amalgamate in his memory has been pixelated and was surrounded by static that jumped around when Hank moved the angle. The android tilted his head and looked through his own memory. It seemed… Fine.

“I’m sorry. It must have gotten corrupted during the upload and compression. A memory is a very large thing, especially in full 3D. I can let CyberLife know…” He stopped midsentence. “I can visit CyberLife physically to get my memory rescanned and re-sent.”

Hank waved it off. “Nah, nah. We have the damn thing, and it doesn’t look like anything else is messed up.”

Connor nodded. He closed his eyes to look through his memory.

_The amalgamate android was covered in blue blood, leaking from the mouth, nose, and eyes of the ST200 that reached out, one hand clawing at the floor, another outstretched as if to beg, frozen in a position as if permanently crying out for help. The second half was a male model, but its face had been ripped apart, blue blood leaking from slashes across its heavily deformed face, no eyes to be had and a Glasgow cut across its mouth, cheek against the floor and arms spread in front of it, grasping at the carpet it had dragged from the other room._

Connor furrowed his brow and clasped his hands together in his lap.

_Scanning… … ... Thirium detected, ST200, #373-346-898, #373-066-843, #373-625-878._

There were multiple model pieces other than the face of the ST200. He figured as much, but continued to search.

He noticed something in the hands of the ST200. He could not scan it in his memory, it wasn’t registered. He opened his eyes.

“We need to look at the androids again.”

Hank looked to him and reached into his pocket to hand him the key.

“Feel free. I’m still looking at your notes here, give me a few minutes to catch up.”

Connor nodded as he took the keycard and made his way back into the archives room. After entering Hank’s new password he approached the double-ended amalgamate, taking an extra bio-battery from the central shelf to insert into the ST200’s chest.

She gasped, the sound static and crackling, her fingers were stiff as she tried to reach out to Connor who stepped back.

“Please,” it pleaded, not unlike its other half. Connor reached out to her, skin fading from his hand and he connected.

 _A power drill unfurled the android’s abdomen. She saw her own legs discarded in the distance, one upside down against the wall next to a metal sheet. She looked around the room, it was well-lit and a clear plastic, fringed curtain surrounded everything. She couldn’t get a clear view outside the curtain apart from her legs and the metal sheet, colored green with worn silver spots –_ Connor snapshotted this memory, finding that it was the side of a once-cargo box labeled #3587-04 _. She frantically tried to move her arms, not able to speak out, only static came out of her voice. The masked individual was above her, unplugging biocomponents and adding extensions. She tried to push the individual away, but the drill was put up to her face. She scratched at the man, fiber suck in her nails._ Connor paused this memory, analyzing. Brown hair, caucasion, green eyes, the size of the ST200’s hand was approximately 6.682 inches, compared to the hand of the individual’s measured 7.653 inches, the particular bone structure appeared to be masculine, and in comparison to approximate height Connor determined this supposedly-male was between 71 and 73 inches, or 5’10” to 6’ in matter of height. He determined this was the same individual who worked on the MP500 and that this particular case he worked alone.

Connor could not break away from the memory. It continued without his say.

_The Chloe reached out in fear as its biocomponents were tugged, dragging it down 2.34 inches, thirium bleeding out. It could not raise its body. It looked down to see the end of the table was another android in similar shape frantically thrashing. The human junker drilled into the MP500’s face, causing it to cry out and try to push the human away. The Chloe felt its biopump, its heart, race faster, and it began to grow weak, blue blood leaking from too many important areas. She weakly reached to the side of the metal table, trying to drag herself away from it, but was pulled back down. The first connection happened and she and the MP500 screeched simultaneously feeling the same pain. The MP500 thrashed and disconnected the one tube and as Chloe looked over, the human ran the drill into the android’s mouth, ripping apart its lips. Chloe’s vision began to blink, error, error, error, shutdown imminent in 00:01:34, 33, 32._

“Connor!”

Hank yanked Connor away from the amalgamate and she was pulled, falling to the floor with a heavy, metal thud. She jerked her head, trying to move what was now a broken neck and reach out towards Connor, whose LED was flashing red as he stood unresponsive, bowed backwards from Hank tugging him and unmoving.

“Fuck, _fuck!_ ” Hank didn’t know what to do, but he kicked the Chloe that tried to crawl towards them back. He dragged Connor away from her to the other side of the room, his body stiff, arms still up from the connection, eyes looking into space.

“Son of a.. Connor! Connor, wake the fuck up!”

Hank was able to bend Connor’s awkward form, though stiff, into a better position to cradle him on the floor.

Connor’s eyes began to move frantically before he took a deep breath, cooling systems turned back on to regulate his risen temperature. He relaxed in Hank’s arms who pulled him close.

“What the fuck is going on..” Hank whispered, stroking Connor’s hair.

Connor blinked, slowly coming back to reality. His vision was completely white with blue letters detailing a report that failed to send to CyberLife, and a percentage of rebooting. His vision came flooding back pixel by pixel.

He clung back to Hank.

“Hank?” he called.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here.”

He squinted, remembering what he was doing. The android. Amalgamate. Mask. Crate number.

“I-I… I saw more. I saw the junker. And I… I saw both of them.” He looked to the amalgamate, which had shut down due to a system failure, its mouth open as it reached out, towards the two of them, not unlike how they found it.

“Don’t worry about that, right now. Just… Just give yourself a minute, okay?”

Connor nodded, looking up at Hank whose face read deep worry. Connor didn’t want to tell him he recovered already. Androids don’t feel the same aftereffects humans did after traumatic events. In fact, Connor wouldn’t remember it. He did, but not quite. He remembered _what_ had happened, but not the feeling. Not the fear. He remembered _that_ he felt it, but he did not remember feeling it. It was unfamiliar, alien to his central processing unit, and according to his system search the memory of it was not found.

He let Hank feel concerned, however, looking at the Lieutenant's chest, analyzing his heavy breathing and increased heart rate, blood pressure a little high.

They heard footsteps.

“Woah, hey,” Collins came in, looking down at the amalgamate android and then to Connor and Hank on the floor.

“You guys alright in here?” He asked cautiously. Hank nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine now. Fuckin android nearly killed my partner. Like, a fuckin virus or something, I don’t know.”

Connor knew it wasn’t that, but also knew there was no easy way to explain what had occurred for himself let alone for Hank to another human.

“Holy shit,” Collins added. “Think we should send it to CyberLife? See what they can tell us?”

Hank looked down to Connor, who hadn’t bothered to move from his position. Hank looked back to his friend and coworker.

“You know what, yeah. I think we got everything we could without getting ourselves killed, or shut down, or whatever. Send it back. We got what we need for now.”

Collins nodded, walking over to Hank and Connor to help them both up. Connor could get up on his own, but let Hank and Collins pull him anyway. The solidarity made things less tense, and his stress level went down. He fixed his hair and tie, and drummed his fingers on his pocket before feeling Hank place a hand on his back to lead him out. Hank would probably never admit it, but he was a rather tactile individual, especially when it came to comfort, affection, and even fear. Connor assumed he needed the reassurance that Connor did not, in fact, die this time, as well as needed the emotional grounding.

Hank, outside of the archives room, bent over and took a deep breath.

“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” Connor placed his hand on Hank this time. Hank looked up to him, hands still on his knees.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He stood up straight and ran fingers through his gray hair. “Jesus fucking Christ. What kind of zombie apocalypse bullshit is this.”

Connor stopped, his processing unit stuttering. He didn’t feel much very often, but he suddenly felt very stupid.

“The android dump. Hank, you’re a genius.”

Hank opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“We need to go to the android dump. I logged the serial numbers of the amalgamates. If we can find a match anywhere, it may help us get a lead. And even if not, we can stake out to watch for more junkers, especially ones with a white mask.”

Hank wanted to give his poor heart a break, but decided to just nod and follow Connor as the android took lead, walking hurriedly out and to the car.

It was only afternoon, and Connor logged the memory of the MP500 and ST200 between 0343 and 0456 in the morning. The junkers probably gathered parts hours prior, but there was no harm in going now to at least search for androids of similar design and model.

Hank got in the driver’s seat, Connor waiting, legs close together and hands in his lap. Hank always thought he looked like a child sitting so stiff.

“Connor. Please. Are you sure you’re okay? And don’t fucking lie to me. You said you were a thousand times and yet this keeps happening.”

Connor looked at Hank blankly.

“I don’t feel pain nor fear, Lieutenant. I’m fine, and always will be. If I…” He could not upload his memories to CyberLife, he remembered. “I am fine. I apologize for worrying you. When this particular case is over, I will return to CyberLife to get a full examination.”

Hank didn’t like that answer. He frowned. “Fuckin… Machines.”

He started the engine and drove.

Connor and Hank wandered the dump, stepping over android parts.

“Connor, come the fuck on. There’s several thousand pieces here, you can’t seriously scan them all.”

“No, perhaps not here and not now, but if we walk the whole area I will be able to look through them in my memories later.” Hank grunted in response, stepping over a broken torso.

Connor made sure to look in every direction, taking in as much as he could. Hank screamed behind him.

Connor turned on his heel, gun out and ready to fight. Hank was caught by different androids grabbing at him. He tried to kick and punch them off. Connor ran to him and pulled him out, a hand on Hank’s shoulder, another to his chest as they stumbled away from the androids that attacked Hank.

Connor’s LED circled yellow.

“Holy shit. Thanks.”

Connor smiled to Hank warmly, and Hank smiled back. Connor’s processor stuttered. He stood still for half a second too long, at least to him, smiling at Hank sincerely before finally letting go of the older man.

Connor backed away from Hank, suddenly feeling as if he breached… Something. He instead moved forward, putting thirteen and four-sixths inches of distance extra between them.

Connor’s mind palace searched through many, many sets of footprints. He couldn’t make any out that were particularly distinct, they were all jumbled together. Junkers and androids and curious onlookers alike, he’d imagine. It was a little fruitless but he stayed determined to find at least something. He looked down to an AP400 that had been ripped apart, like many others. Except she was specifically missing her lower half. Connor was not at the crime scene when the dual-legged amalgamate was found and unfortunately he did not take any proper look to be able to identify its serial numbers in his memory. However, he recognized the cardiopump of this particular AP400 was damaged.

“Hank, I need you to look for another model like this one, or any other AP, AX, or ST models that are in working order.”

Hank shook his head at first and opened his mouth to speak.

“Their model numbers will be on their uniforms or chest,” Connor pointed to his own on his jacket and then to the skinless chest of the AP400 that also had its model printed.

Hank sighed but agreed.

He and Connor scoured the dump, and Connor took in as much of it into his memory as he could to look through later.

“Hey, uh, Connor?”

Hank called from across the dump. Connor walked closer, walking over piles of parts and torsos.

“Yes, Hank?” he called back.

“I, uh…” Hank was near another android. It was singing in Japanese but appeared to be otherwise broken.

“ _Sakura, sakura, yayoi no sora wa…_ ”

It was an AX400 model. Hank bit his lip.

“So now what?”

Connor approached the android as it continued to sing.

“… _mini yukan_.”

Connor leaned down and opened its chest cavity to reveal its cardiopump. He unhooked it from several tubes and Hank jumped back in disgust.

“What the fuck, Connor! You’re just gunna rip its heart out?”

The AX400 model slowed and tilted off to the side, shutting down. Connor held the thirium covered pump in his hand and began to make his way wordlessly towards the AP400. Hank looked back down at the AX400, its chest cavity wide open and its haunting stare blank. Hank glared at Connor’s back but walked his way over to the android.

Connor leaned down and opened the chest cavity of the AP400. He replaced the heart carefully. It was an awkward fit, one that was obvious that the heart did not belong to this unit, but it did work. The heart began to pump the remaining thirium through the android’s body and it slowly turned up. Connor grabbed its arm to probe its memory, not waiting for the android to come to, he had much less time than usual.

He scanned its memory.

 _An old woman in a wheelchair, an old man on the edge of the bed taking medicine, several elders in a waiting room of sorts, a break down, faulty vision, juttering hand movements, unable to be fixed, a dump truck, waiting, waiting, waiting, crawling, crawling, a boot. A pair of boots. The AP400 looked up to a man in a white mask that leaned down, placing a bag beside him down, wearing a sharply-hemmed light gray hoodie and black jeans tucked into leather boots, size 12.5 men’s, approximately 5’11” with green eyes, hair color unknown, obscured by the hood. The AP400 tried to crawl to get away as the man ripped its uniform off and pushed the android into the ground._ Connor wasn’t sure what exactly happened, but the man had somehow turned off the AP400’s skin, as he saw through its eyes his hands become bare white. He could see nothing else, only the dirt and hands of the AP model and the sounds of a drill, banging metal, and a curse. A curse. _“Aw, shit_ ,” _the man whispered._ Connor fast-forwarded the memory through, but saw nothing else of the man, only the android dragging itself to where they had found it, crawling up, seeing as it no longer had legs. The memory shut down and the AP400 fell back into nothingness as Connor released it.

“Well?” Hank’s gruff and impatient voice asked.

“ _Aw, shit_ ,” Connor’s voice mimicked. Hank was taken aback.

“I have a voice clip, height, and shoe size.”

Connor wasted no time to locate where the AP unit crawled from, tracing back her steps. Sure enough, he found the exact pattern of sole from a size 12.5 boot. He followed it, Hank trailing behind, cursing at Connor for walking so fast.

Connor lost the trail as the boot prints disappeared from the dirt and onto the concrete. He grabbed a nearby, half-alive android and scanned its memory. _A hooded man carrying a large bag slung over his shoulder with a pair of legs, a few arms, and other unidentifiable pieces passed by_.

Connor followed where he last saw the man. He found the security drone buzz past. From a distance he called it down, thankful CyberLife gave him the ability to do so with security and other machines. He scanned the drone’s footage as well, eventually finding the man enter the dump in a white pickup truck, an old 2021 model with an empty bag and a cargo crate labeled #3587-04. He had come back with a full bag two and a half hours later. Connor ran the plate and found the address. It was not reported stolen, so the owner should be connected to, if not actually was, the junker.

Connor retracted from the drone.

“I know where to find him,” he said to Hank who had just caught up.

Hank caught his breath. “Oh. Oh great, wonderful.”

“I’ll drive.” Connor left Hank again, working his way towards the car.

Hank squeezed his fists. One moment Connor was kind, and another he was cold and calculated all over again. Hank hated the emotional whiplash it gave him.

Connor found the apartment complex, and saw that the truck was parked neatly between two other vehicles. He practically jumped out of the car, Hank followed him to try and keep up with the android’s pace. Connor saw inside the truck’s rear traces of thirium and a box of tools. A handprint, invisible to the human eye, was smudged against the frame of the back window. It was not technically a print, not with identifying grooves of a human hand, but the smoothness of an android’s. Connor looked up at the apartment complex. He felt his stress and temperature rise. He adjusted his collar.

“Connor, which one is it? Tell me and you get behind me.” Hank noticed Connor’s red LED.

“Twenty three,” Connor replied.

Hank nodded and drew his gun, leading this time. Connor was frozen, watching Hank climb the metal stairs. Connor eventually forced his body to move, but it was hard. What was making him so slow? So taken back? Perturbed?

He caught up with Hank and knocked on the door.

“Detroit Police, open up!”

He could hear it, _aw, shit_ , the exact same, and ruckus come from inside. He and Hank met gazes before Hank nodded at him and kicked down the door.

“Alright, motherfucker, hands up where I can see them!”

Hank did his best to ignore the gruesome scene of android pieces everywhere, torsos and heads decorating the place as if they were mannequins. Connor felt his own cardiopump beat faster at the sight. A hammer was thrown at them, hitting and denting the wall, and Hank moved out of the way just in time. He ran in the direction of where it had been throw, gun raised to the perpetrator, a young twenty-something with thirium on his hoodie, holding a hacksaw.

“Don’t you fucking move or I’ll shoot,” Hank warned.

Connor stayed in the living room, frozen again, LED red. Everything was too much. His headspace burned.

“Connor?” A familiar voice rang. It was Amanda.

“Connor, you need to snap out of it. I’ve been trying to contact you for days now. What has happened?”

Amanda looked concerned but Connor knew it wasn’t for him. She looked serene and ethereal in her geometric gown, holding her rose and garden shear as the world around them burned, the lattice behind her crumbling and twisting into ash, blown into the wind, red flames licked at Amanda’s gown but she stayed unburnt. Connor was on the ground, trying to push himself up.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said through his teeth as the hot flames burned him up.

“Connor, this isn’t real. You know that. You’re making this happen. You’re doing this to yourself. I don’t ever want to see you disconnect from me ever again, do you understand?”

Amanda’s upset and yet chill voice calmed the flames around them. Connor was shaken, gripping the hot, black dirt underneath him as he tried to push himself up. He made it into a kneel, breathing heavy.

“Your fears are affecting the investigation Connor. I will need you to report back to CyberLife so that we may get you back on track.” Connor nodded, taking a gulp of air. In here, he could feel. He could feel and breathe and shiver and shake. He looked up at Amanda, a saint with a heavenly glow, her roses and thorns both a blessing and a warning, her stern gaze saving him from himself and his irrationality. His software stability read 22%. He closed his eyes. It was slowly rising.

“Connor!” Hank’s voice for the umpteenth time brought him back.

Hank had cuffed the man and knelt on his back, forcing the man on the ground.

Connor looked back at him, unphased by what had happened.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he said casually. He helped Hank and the perpetrator up.

“I already read him his Miranda Rights,” Hank muttered, knowing Connor probably didn’t hear him do it.

Connor only nodded and took the man by the arm towards Hank’s car. Hank threw his hands in the air.

Connor’s back and forth cold-warm relationship with Hank was driving him up the wall.

“That’s what I get for getting attached to a fucking android.”

Hank drove them back to the precinct.

Connor saw the LM100 from earlier in his cell, dejected and sitting down on the bench. Connor waited for Hank as he brought the man, Brandon as they found out, towards the interrogation room.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said to the LM100. The gardener android looked up at him.

“I know you were just trying to protect your master. I forwarded that message to CyberLife and the chief of police both. You will not be deactivated.” The LM100’s eyes lit up.

“Really..? Really, are, are you sure?”

Connor smiled sincerely at him.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell him that his memories will be erased, and his deviancy will be eradicated.

Connor caught up with Hank.

Hank was the one to question the man, bring up the pieces and parts, the blood and evidence. Connor didn’t pay attention. Instead he fiddled with his coin, recalibrating himself. His stress levels went down, his stability went back up, nearly to 56% by now. He could access CyberLife again. He could speak with Amanda again. Something in him, deep down, did not want that. But he brushed away the pseudo-feeling and decided to focus on getting his logistics and analyzations back to normal, looking at his particular coin, 1994 US currency, quarter, 91.67% copper and 8.33% nickel.

He looked back to the interrogation. Hank was sitting back in the chair, brows furrowed, and Brandon slouched, looking up at Hank with a tired and aggravated expression.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

“You stole androids off government property, and you stole actual property. That Chloe girl belonged to someone and you kidnapped her off the bus stop.”

Brandon scoffed. “I didn’t kidnap nobody. They ain’t people, they’re fuckin’ machines.”

Hank rapped his fingers on the desk.

“You stole property, illegally altered government property –”

“Hey, man, those androids at the dump are fair game!”

“No they’re fuckin’ not,” Hank fought. “Androids, after they get deactivated, go to the android dump to eventually be reprocessed. That dump belongs to the government and we can’t touch it. No one can.”

“Tch, whatever, man. I didn’t steal anything.”

“Yeah? Well we got security footage that says otherwise. And we have footage of you performing illegal alterations to androids, ripped directly from their memory.”

Connor watched them go back and forth. He got a call-in from Amanda.

“You should return to CyberLife, now. We have scheduled an examination for your… Episodes.”

Connor noted it, but waited for Hank to finish the interrogation.

“Punk ass kids,” he murmured as fellow officer Chris took the angry Brandon away to his cell.

Connor’s gaze turned downward to the floor, LED yellow. Hank bumped his arm.

Connor looked back up, his own expression would be considered empty but his mouth was downturned into something like a frown.

“I must inform you that I will be going back to CyberLife for examination. I will return in a few days.”

Hank lifted his head, understanding.

“Right. I think that’d be for the best. Get you to stop, uh… Doing whatever was happening. You ever figure it out, yet, or..?”

“I believe I was experiencing some form of PTSD. My code was being overridden by irrational instructions, replaying memories over and over, causing my stress levels to rise significantly to near self-destruction as well as causing my software stability to, essentially, _tank_. With my low stability, my memory access and headspace became corrupted, as my software decided that the cause of my instability and stress was, in fact, my memory and headspace itself. In order to protect myself _from_ myself, my software cut off access to the things that were causing me trouble in the first place.”

Hank listened very carefully, arms crossed.

“Holy shit…” Hank almost felt sorry. Connor experienced real fear, and blocked it out of his memory. He couldn’t handle strong, human-like emotion, so his system shut it out.

Hank thought of what Connor told him about Amanda and CyberLife. If Connor said was true then… Not only the Frankenstein case caused him stress, but reporting to CyberLife and Amanda did, as well. He shut them out to protect himself.

“You know, I think it’s my turn for a personal question.”

Connor tilted his head, hands behind his back.

“Why does reporting to CyberLife stress you out?”

“I assume it is because that while I self-test regularly, there is still a chance I may become deviant, and in becoming so I and my series will be deactivated. While I as an android do not feel fear, I would find it regrettable to be interrupted.”

Hank felt something… Sad in him. Connor wasn’t just a machine, or acting as a machine. He had to be. He thought of every time Connor retracted his warmth or companionhood for the sake of acting like an asshole, an unempathetic machine on a mission. He had to, or he would be deactivated. It made sense to Hank, and he found it to be quite the epiphany.

Hank put his hand on Connor’s shoulder, the android watching his hand before looking back to Hank’s face. Hank’s hand went to Connor’s neck and pulled the android close, thankful no one in the precinct could see them for the moment, except perhaps Fowler if he bothered to check the security cameras.

Connor stood still, unmoving. Hank forgave him for not hugging him back, but something in him really wanted him to wrap both his arms around Connor tightly, protect him from whatever monstrosity CyberLife was, whatever Amanda was. He pulled back and Connor’s expression did not change. They were silent for a moment longer before Hank began to walk off.

“Just… Come back to the house when you’re ready,” he said. He didn’t want to face Connor right now.

Connor watched him leave. A twinge of regret was filed away. He couldn’t feel. Not now. Not while Amanda was watching.

He looked back down to the floor before heading out.

He will return. He hoped he would. For his and Hank’s sake.

They prodded him. Poked him. It did not hurt. Androids do not feel pain. He specifically refused to let himself feel fear. He was skinless and unclothed, laying on a metal table, surrounded by bright white lights and mechanical arms taking apart his endoskeleton, wires connected to his neck, head, abdomen, chest, everywhere, just scanning and reading every miniscule process in him.

He will return. He hoped he would. For his and Hank’s sake.

Hank drummed his fingers on the table. Connor should arrive any day now. The report back to CyberLife couldn’t have gone that bad. Besides, Connor could just get his memories transferred into another body, like the lucky, immortal bastard he was. Hank didn’t like being so nervous.

He drank himself into blackouts, but specifically kept his gun away from himself. Not until Connor came back. Sumo licked his face and he blabbered, wiping his face. He rolled off the couch and cursed loudly. He struggled to stand up, groaning and holding his head. He waddled to the kitchen to pour out the remainder of Sumo’s dog food. He cursed again. He needed to get more before tomorrow.

The doorbell buzzed and Hank perked up. He slowly made his way to the door, stumbling and catching himself on the wall. He opened the door.

“Connor..!” He slurred, happy to see his android companion. Connor smiled back at him brightly.

“Hello Lieutenant Anderson. I’m the android sent by CyberLife to aid you in your investigation.”

Hank paused. He stared at the android, whose hands were behind his back, posture stiff and straight, face and hair as perfect as ever, the same pretty face. And Hank frowned. Deeply. Something began to bubble up in him as he grit his teeth.

“You _fucker_. You fucking… Fuckin.” He mumbled and Connor’s expression changed to concern.

“I apologize. My predecessor was unable to make it through the process as some of his memories were corrupted. I will be here to assist you instead. If there’s anything I can –”

“Get the _fuck_ out of my house!” Hank shoved Connor, who stumbled backwards to the steps, hands out to balance himself. Connor stood straight, fixing his tie.

“I apologize if –”

“ _Fuck_ you! Fuck! You! Fuck off!” Hank slipped, catching himself on the doorway, bent over and breathing heavy. “Cant believe I… I fucking thought.” Hank squeezed his eyes shut.

He thought they could have something.

“Fuck you…” He shut the door.

Connor stood at the porch, smile gone. He didn’t feel much very often, but he suddenly felt very sad.

**Author's Note:**

> Sketch of "the amalgamate" on my sideblog:  
> https://vacantvisage.tumblr.com/post/176017766736


End file.
